


Purple Leather

by JustSomeMusings



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Chair Sex, I don't know, I give up, Is it crossdressing if it was part of one of his costumes?, M/M, PWP, Sort of crossdressing?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 20:59:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/602012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustSomeMusings/pseuds/JustSomeMusings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from norsekink: Clint hates his new costume design (http://i.newsarama.com/images/Hawkeye-Headband-Circus-Outfit.jpg). Coulson makes it better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purple Leather

Ridiculous. He feels absolutely ridiculous. These are not ‘modifications to enhance his performance,’ these are horrible, horrible changes to his gear that make him like a sixty’s gogo dancer. A female sixty’s gogo dancer. Light purple leather, really? Really? Somebody is fucking with him. Somebody has to be fucking with him. This cannot not possibly be what he wears on missions ‘cause it’s just way too ridiculous. The guys can’t see him like this. No scratch that. Who gives a shit about them. Natasha can’t see him like this. It’ll be mocking for days no weeks no years if she ever sees him in this…this thing. 

“Agent Barton you are going to have to come out of there at some point, so we can see what we need to fix,” one of the personnel from the Department of Dress Regulation says. Dress Regulation his ass. More like the Department of Embarrassing Things That Should Never Have Been Made and Should Immediately Be Burned. 

“Everything! You need to fix everything! There is no way I am letting another person or teammate or villain or monster or anything or anyone see me like this!” Hawkeye shouts back. He hears a huff and then a door close. Goooooooood riddance. Now he can get this damn thing off. 

“Barton,” he hears. Shit. He didn’t even hear the door open. That’s so cheating. It is so not fair to bring in Coulson. That is most definitely cheating. There’s a rule somewhere. He’ll look it up later. 

“Sir,” he responds. 

“Are you decent?” Coulson inquires and Clint shivers a little at the tone. Has to be inquired because if he had asked then Barton would be getting tortured and he’s been on enough missions with this man to know that, that is a horrible experience. 

“Depends on your definition of the word decent,” Hawkeye mumbles and while he can’t see him, he knows that Phil is rolling his eyes and reaching for the curtain that separates Hawkeye and complete and utter humiliation. He manages to grab the curtain just as he feels a tug on it, but the other side slides open revealing Phil Coulson, who stares at him with raised eyebrows, but that might be because the skirt on purple leather outfit rode up to almost reveal his assets. Hawkeye quickly grabs the bottom of the outfit and tries to pull it down his legs, but even then it barely covers his ass. Coulson just smirks, closes the curtain, and leans against the wall opposite Hawkeye. Hawkeye just blushes. 

“This is a good look for you,” he says. Clint blushes even harder and tries to cover up his chest because the narrow light purple bands that lead down to his skirt aren’t really doing that. Not only that but this thing has a belt, for what reason he doesn’t know, but it’s not holding the skirt up because there isn’t that much to hold up. Skirt. He cannot believe he’s in a skirt…without underwear because they show and that just looked even weirder. He’s regretting that decision now. He has to look like an idiot because he’s trying to tug the skirt down with one hand and keep himself covered with the other, all while becoming the approximate color of a tomato.  
He’s not looking at Coulson when he starts walking towards him. He’s instead trying to figure out a way for the skirt to stop riding up anytime he minutely moves his arm, while kicking one of the hideous purple boots out of the way. He does notice when Coulson is almost on him and by then it’s too late. Clint’s against a wall with one of Phil’s knees between his thighs. He wraps his arms around Phil’s neck to steady himself. Phil hands clutch at the sides of his hips and this thumbs press into Clint’s hipbones. The skirt stretches obscenely across his thighs. 

“Seeing me in a skirt gets you off? Seriously? Because that’s just-” Phil cuts him off by biting his lower lip and tugging on it. It shuts Clint up. Coulson kisses like he works: straight to the point and thorough…very thorough. In a manner of seconds he’s worked Clint’s lips apart, sucked his tongue into his mouth, run his teeth along it, and made Clint melt. It’s rough and messy and perfect. One of the hands on his hip has pushed its way under the ugly leather and started stoking his inner thigh with his thumb. 

“Chair! There’s a cha-,” he gets out when Coulson manages to let go of his mouth before it turns into a gasp of startled breathe and a moan that would make Tony blush because Coulson has taken it upon himself to mark every inch of skin on Hawkeye’s neck. Phil finds his pulse point and licks at in little strokes before biting down and sucking making Clint throw is head back and to the side to give him more room. 

Phil somehow manages to maneuver them away from the wall and towards the chair. He goes to turn around to sit Clint in the chair, but Clint pushes him down first. Then he climbs into Phil’s lap and straddles him. Coulson looks Clint up and down in one slow look that make Clint feel like he has no clothes on even though he’s fully dressed, or well, kind of fully dressed. Phil’s hands on back on his thighs just like his hands are back to messing up Phil’s hair. He can see the outline of Phil pressing up against his pants. He licks his lips. Phil slips hands under the skirt and pushes it. The leather feels smooth has it glides over his cock, making Clint buck up, and, most importantly, getting him out of the skirt finally. 

Coulson wraps his hand around Hawkeye and the noise that he makes is something he can’t believe came out of this mouth. He bucks up seeking more friction. Phil runs his hand up and down teasingly slow, frustrating Clint, who’s whining now. Phil’s other hand comes around to sit on Clint’s ass. He gives it squeeze and Clint buries his head in Phil’s neck, pushing his ass back into Phil’s hand. Coulson runs his thumb over Hawkeye’s hole at the same time he twists his wrist at the head of Hawkeye’s cock startling a loud cry from him. He circles the entrance putting more and more pressure on it and speeding up the pace on his cock. When Coulson’s thumb pushes past the tight ring of muscle a little bit as the same time as he gives a hard squeeze to Clint’s cock, Clint clenches down on his thumb and moans. 

“Fuck me. Please just fuck me,” he whispers into Phil’s neck. Phil chuckles. Clint hits his arm, which makes Phil squeeze his cock hard again and Clint lets out a loud groan. 

“Back pocket,” Phil says and lifts them both out of the chair a little. Clint raises his head from Phil’s neck and raises his eyebrows. 

“You just happened to have lube in your back pocket?” he asks even as he dives into Phil’s back pockets and comes away with a small bottle of lube. 

“I was a boy scout. They taught you to be prepared,” Phil responds. Clint laughs while he unzips Coulson’s dress pants and tugs down his boxer briefs. Phil sits back down and resettles Clint in his lap. He takes the lube. He coats two fingers. Clint shivers. 

He reburies his face in Coulson’s neck when he feels a finger at his entrance. He tries to push back against it, but Coulson wraps his other arm around his back to hold him in place. He whimpers. Coulson teases him, just rubbing his finger back and forth over his opening, until Clint nips at his neck. Coulson slides his finger in and Clint’s entire body shudders. Coulson starts moving slowly trying to work Clint up to the sensation, but Clint has other plans and starts pushing back almost immediately. 

“Impatient,” Coulson murmurs. He presses a kiss to Clint’s temple. 

“Want you…want you in me,” Clint moans outs as Phil presses the second finger in and begins to scissor his fingers. Phil finds a rhythm with his fingers that’s just between fast and slow, but it manages to hit Clint’s prostate on every stroke. Clint’s reduced to panting whines and whimpers. Phil’s places kisses on any part of Clint’s face that he can reach. A couple more thrusts and Phil removes his fingers. Clint groans at the loss. 

“Ready?” Phil whispers. Clint nods because he doesn’t trust his voice right now. Clint grabs the lube that has somehow managed to stay on the chair between them. He slicks up his hand and then slicks up Phil who lets out a hiss that has Clint smirking. He speeds up a little bit making Phil groan and catch his wrist. He grins a little, but it slides off his face when Phil manages to slide in all in one shot. He collapses against Coulson, wraps around his neck, and hangs on. Coulson starts out slow and steady. 

“More. C’mon Phil. Fuck me,” Clint whispers in Coulson’s ear before he nibbles on it. Coulson slams up at the same time Clint meets him on the away down. Clint can’t catch his breath because Phil had most definitely taken that as a challenge and is now fucking Clint as hard as the chair will allow. Their movements are scraping the chair along the floor backwards until it’s up against a wall. Clint shifts his hands to the wall to gain some leverage and slams down as Phil thrusts up. Phil leaves kisses on his chest while Clint leans down so that they can share a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue. He moans into Coulson’s mouth on a particularly hard push that hits his prostate dead on. 

Phil curls his fingers around Clint again and times his strokes with their rhythm. Clint’s legs and arms are shaking with strain and his hips are starting to move on there own accord. He’s so damn close. He can feel it coiling hot and heavy in his gut. Coulson has gone back to pressing kisses along his chest and has sped up his hand completely wrecking Hawkeye’s focus, which is something that no one else has ever been able to do. His hips are stuttering and have fallen completely out of rhythm. His breathe comes in harsh pants with whines and whimpers mixed in. 

“Clint. Come for me, Clint,” Phil whispers to him and just as ridiculous as his current outfit is he does with Phil’s name on his lips. He buries his head into Coulson’s neck as he continues to fuck up into Clint’s even tighter passage. Clint presses kisses wherever he can reach on Phil’s neck. A few thrusts later and Coulson releases with his lips pressed to Clint’s temple. Clint kisses up the side of his neck, across his jaw, and presses a kiss to his lips. 

“So, skirts?” Clint asks when they’ve regained their breath. 

“We’re keeping the outfit, but there is no way I am letting anyone else see you in it,” Phil replies. Clint laughs and then snuggles into Phil’s neck again. It really is his second home. 

“That didn't answer my question you know,” he says while nuzzling Phil’s neck. Coulson kisses him and Clint knows it’s a blatant attempt at distraction, but he finds that he doesn't really care. After all he has theories to check out. Theories that involve the potential disappearing of Natasha’s mission skirts, which are short…really short. 

Clint smirks into the kiss.


End file.
